fuck yeah i am still holding on
making mountains out of molehills
trading moments in for memories
these days still mean everything to me
days that could've so easily been ignored by you
so many hours through scorching desert
man, how can i say this without sounding like some cheesy
Motley Crue song?
so much of what we do driven by thoughts of you
some names we'll never know
your smiling, imperfect faces helping us along
"are we almost there?"
for thirty minutes while the whole world exists only
in your eyes and war cries
so much of our lives driven by thoughts of you
and you and you there way in the back
could it really be?
still cannot believe that it's true...
part of your day spent thinking of us
waiting (just like i used to) for us to show up,
plug in, and share with you our hearts
and that twenty-hour drive turns into nothing at all
and for that we must
thank you
out on the road little boys let their beards grow
oh so busy talking about the things that we don't know
all done worrying about the things we used to be
(i'm too busy finding out what i'm gonna be)
and finding weapons of mass destruction
to combat this boredom that claws at my eyes, my ears
no longer can i worry about whether these words
have touched you or failed you...
fuck, you're too busy bitching about
clothes that do not fit
"so play the violins"
i'll keep getting in the van
worry about money for the rest of my life
just so that you can have this to talk about
our time is to spend time with you
and if you don't want it well that's fine too
walk right out that door
this room was growing cold with you
this room that is my home
and i cannot
and i must not
and i will not
let clean shaven boys that all look the same
toss hand grenades into this my faith
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